


Pure Submarine Heroine

by HoneyBear



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Songfic, Unilock, Winter Mystrade Exchange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:36:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyBear/pseuds/HoneyBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After finding out some big news, Mycroft Holmes decides he need a to walk it off. He ends up in the dingy dumps of London and meets the one and only Greg Lestrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pure Submarine Heroine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zzigae](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=zzigae).



> This is my Winter Mystrade Exchange gift for zzigae, which I turned in late! So sorry my dear! This is also a multi chapter fic so the cuddles by the fire the other stuff that you asked for is actually in a later chapter(s) which I already wrote, this story just got away from me and I didn't want to give you a half-assed thing so here we are with a multi-chapter fic.
> 
> I also got my inspirations from a couple of different songs which i will post at the beginnings of each chapter if you'd like to listen, but its not vital to the story.

(Hiding Tonight-Alex Turner)

 

 

The streets he walked were filled with the sounds and scents of the night life. If you didn’t observe close enough you’d almost believe the streets were empty. But Mycroft knew, he saw the cigarette smoke billowing from dark alleyways and could smell the unmistakable firm scent of alcohol coating the pavement from clumsy passerby’s who occasionally passed him on their way to worst mornings. He knew he didn’t belong there; it was exceedingly obvious with his Burberry trench and his ram-rod straight posture as he strode along down the block. Those who were coherent enough to comment  _did_ and made sure he heard it:

 

‘Wrong side of the Thames hun.’ 

Crack head in her 20’s but looks as if she’s 40.

 

‘You lost love?’ 

A prostitute.

Only a few more months before she was thrown from her ‘job’, she was starting to develop wrinkles and greys.

 

‘Go back ta the West End!’

Wanna be thug.

 Weak, barely able to handle a gun and couldn’t even shoot me in the head if I aimed the gun myself.

 

 ‘Fuckin’ puffter.’  Muttered under someone’s breath.

Actual thug. 

Knew when to pick his fights.

Thankfully I wasn’t one of them.

To preoccupied with drug dealings to feel the need to pick with me.

 

It was nearly 1 in the morning by the time I decided to stop.  Ending up in front of a pub called the Rubbish Bin; well it didn’t actually say that considering that the sign lights flickered on and off where it hung above the front door. It was more along the lines of ‘_ub_is_  B_n’, but it sure lived up to its name as I walked inside the dank and dark room that could never have passed health code inspections. The bar-stool I sat on was torn and barely standing, the walls covered in mildew, the wallpaper curling off, and the ceilings stained with various shades of greens and browns. But that was just the pub itself, the people inside were a whole other story. Big burly men with piercings and hair thinning, beards wet with perspiration and loud booming voices that carried to anyone listening. Women with greasy, stringy mops of hair, clothes ripped and torn, and make-up caked on with indifference to how clownish they looked as long as it hid their forming wrinkles and beaten bruises of domestic violence.  They all mixed and mingled quietly aside from the occasional laughing, clinking of drinks and loud exclamations. They seemed to be enjoying themselves-

 

“Whatdya have then?”  A gruff voice pulls me from my musings and I turn to see the bartender standing before me across the counter. He was tall and tanned with his right arm a tattooed sleeve that crawled it's way up his neck right underneath his jaw and piercings adorned his handsome face. Three glittering hoops in his eyebrow, a bar stuck through the other, a black stud jutting from the corner of his bottom lip, and a slew of what looked like every kind of piercing on both his ears.

 

“I-I’m sorry what?”

 

“A drink mate? What will it be then?”

 

“Uh…do you have…?” I scanned the back wall behind the man eagerly looking for something that I knew of, but of course nothing here was familiar to me. “…Chateau Beaumont?”

 

“What?”

 

“…Chateau Beaumont…”

 

“Like the French wine?”

 

“Um…yes.” The man barked put a laugh before answering me.

 

“Does it look like we’ve got French wine here love?” A shiver sparked down my spine at the word ‘love’ spoken from his mouth and---

 

A tongue ring.

 

He had a tongue ring to add to his various amount of other piercings. It was stark red and clanked against his teeth when he spoke.

 

“How ‘bout I set you up with a gin and tonic?” Quickly I nodded, not wanting to make a fool out of myself even more than I already had. He spoke to me as he made my drink, his hands steady even as he moved quickly.

 

“You look like the type of bloke who’d drink a gin and tonic.” He smirked at my raised eyebrow and continued.

“You know…the posh type.” He mock whispered the last bit, leaning in close and cupping his hand around his mouth. His breath was a mix of menthol cigarettes and beer and there on his forehead an errant piece of hair curled, making him look as if from another time.

 

“You don’t talk much do you?”  The man pulls away from me to finish the drink, his eyes never leaving my face while he worked. Studying, analyzing the 'posh man' I knew I was.

 

“I…talk.”

 

“Then say something.” He put my drink down in front of me and began to wash out cups with a dishrag.

 

They were already clean.

 

He was stalling, didn’t want to leave yet, but would if I didn’t engage in some sort of communication.

 

 

 

“Something.”

His eyes shot up from the cup he was scrubbing, looking me up and down before he gave a full bodied laugh. It was then that I decided I wanted to hear that laugh more often.

 

“Oh, you’re a cheeky one aren’t you?”  I gave a tentative smile before answering.

 

“Maybe.” The man looked away in thought giving a soft breathy sort of laugh before slowly his eyes came back to rest on me.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes.” I don’t even hesitate to answer him, it was automatic, the need to please this man. The need to do everything in my power to give him anything he wanted was overbearing, I didn't even know him and already I wanted to tell him everything.

 

“Nice to meet you Mycroft, the names Greg Lestrade.” He held out his hand across the counter and I readily took it in my own. He had rough hands, dry skin and scars. And a callous. Right on his index finger.

 

“Do you hunt?”

 

“I’m sorry, what?”

 

“Do you go hunting? Are you a hunter?”

 

“Uh, no?” He looked skeptically coming to stand in front of me. Quickly I scrambled to reply so that he’d understand I wasn’t some freak.

 

“No it’s just that you’ve got a callous on your index finger…it’s a sign of someone who fires guns often. Also the way you stretch out your hand often, suggest that you get pains and stiffness. Also there’s some gunshot residue along the hem of your shirt that might’ve been mistaken for soot or other dirt’s considering where you work, but seeing the callous on your index finger clearly spoke of gun use. You obviously were out all day before coming to work and since there are no wooded areas in London where you can legally hunt, you’d have to have gone to a shooting range far from work which is why you wouldn’t have had time to change your clothes. Conclusion: You are a hunter....that trains often.” i added as an afterthought.

 

For a while it was absolutely silent, besides the sounds of people puttering around and talking. At that moment I knew I'd ruined everything. He was going to walk away and mutter ‘Freak.’ under his breath, they all do that, they all come to that conclusion eventually. Sometimes I think I shouldn’t even try, what was the point really? Why-

 

“How the hell did you do that?” I swiftly look up at his tone of excitement. He’s got the brightest smile plastered on his face and if I’m not mistaken (which I never am) the expression on his face is utter awe.

 

“I just…deduced.”

 

“Deduced.” He rolled it around in his mouth before perking up. “Can you do that deducing thing on anyone?”

 

“Uh…Yes.”

 

“Alright how ‘bout…Sam.” He points to a tall ebony woman with an afro too big for her own good. I study her swiftly before turning back to Gregory. I catch him staring at me with an odd look before it’s wiped away to a grin.

 

“I’ll know if you get it wrong so be careful.” There’s silence before…

 

“Mid 30’s, four children, abused as a child. Her husband left her for another man, a man in this pub. She used to be addicted to cocaine. Thinking about getting into prostitution to pay for her daughter’s tuition and she’s just stolen that man's wallet." 

 

”…How?” I dont even let him think about it before I'm off again.

 

“She’s older, not old enough to have crows feet but old enough to start getting greys. She’s got a charm bracelet with four charms that she keeps rubbing at and looking at guiltily as she talks to that woman, which brings me to her being abused. She wouldn’t look like that if she didn’t care about her kids and she has scars along her temple, her neck, shoulder, collar bone and I’m assuming many more. They are all old enough to have faded almost completely and wrinkle along with her other skin lines so I’d say 20 years. Why would she have so many scars that old? Abused as a child and now tries to give her children everything even when she knows she isn’t capable of it. Now her husband. She has a tan line along her ring finger, meaning she wore this piece of jewelry for a long time, she was married but now she’s not. She keeps looking at that man over there who is obviously playing for the other team. Her expression is a mix of disgust, anger, scorn and a bit of jealousy, that’s usually a look saved for ‘The Other Woman’ but in this case its ‘The Other Man’. On to cocaine, she keeps rubbing her nose and sniffing periodically. Yes, that may indicate that she’s just got the sniffles, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that she’s also sweating and looks paranoid half the time. She’s going through withdrawal, trust me I know what that looks like. Onward to prostitution. See that woman sitting with her? That woman is a prostitute and this Sam girl has been talking to her, they aren’t friends because if they were they’d be more loose and not as serious.  So that means they’ve just met.  Why would a stranger be having a conversation with a prostitute for so long and not buy? She’s looking for a job. I know its for one of her children because she keeps twidling with one of her charms more than the others, its the most extravengant charm on there, meaning that she got it when she had money that she definatley doesnt have now. Why would a mother go to such lengths for her eldest child? University tuition.  And now see this man over here? Do you see how he’s been looking through his jacket for the past 2 minutes. Well before that, he had walked past her table coming from the bathroom, but he had his wallet before he went to the bathroom when he’d been buying marijuana from that guy in the corner,  he ended up tripping giving her the opportunity to 'help' him up. She stole his wallet.”

 

There is silence once again but now Mycroft is staring back at him instead. He’d slowly become more confidant as he had spoken and now he was truly becoming Mycroft Holmes.

 

“I’d just like to begin with…that was fucking amazing. I mean really, truly wonderful. But I’m more interested in the fact that you’ve got this cocky little grin on your face that I think I wanna see more often.”

The smirk that had gone unnoticed to me, now fell quickly followed by a deep blush i could feel crawling up my face to my ears.  But before I could come up with a reply Gregory spoke up again.

 

“Actually, I think I like this blushing demure look better. It makes me want to kiss you more.”

 

“I-“ the loud blare of his phone interrupts me and I scrambled to pick it up.

 

“H-hello?” My voice cracking. A breathless voice spoke quickly on the other line.

 

“Mycroft, You need to come back home now.  Your parents just called from JFK and are headed back on the next plane out.”

 

“John? What the hell are you doing at my house?” I could hear a familiar voice in the background snort

‘ _Having some MAGNIFICENT sex on your bed!_ ’

 

‘ _Shut up Sherlock!’_

“I’m really sorry Mycroft, you know your brother-“

 

“Really, I don’t know need to know.  Just get out of my room. Now.” I cut the call and begin to get up fishing for my wallet to pay.

 

“Woah, where are you going?”

 

“I’ve got to get home.” i slap a hundred pound bill on the counter.

 

“What? You can’t go yet!”

 

“It was very nice to meet you Gregory.” I start toward the door fastening the buttons on my coat as I walk out to a cool burst of air and head to a more localized part to see if I could catch a cab. If it was possible the streets seemed to have gotten quieter than when I was out here before. I take long swift strides, not wanting to extend my stay down here any longer than I have. As I’m turning a corner I feel a hand grab my arm to twist me around.

 

 

A mugger?

 

Not uncommon in these areas.

 

Automatically my arm shoots out to sock a punch straight to his jaw, quickly as the unknown person is turned away I grab his arm and pin him to the brick wall beside me.

 

“Whatever you want, you’re not going to get so I’d give up trying now.” I speak low in his ear so as not to raise suspicion from the apartments above that might have windows open.

 

“Jesus Mycroft, what the hell are you? A fuckin’ military experiment gone wrong?”

 

“Gregory?”

 

“Oh don’t call me that, you make me sound like an old man.” Slowly I ease up on him and he turns flexing at his shoulder and rubbing at his jaw all while giving me a glare that could melt ice.

 

“Why are you following me?”

 

“Well I was trying to be courteous and offer you a ride, but obviously-“

 

“I’ll take it.”

 

“What?”

 

“The ride. I’ll take it, I need to get back home fast and waiting for a cab at this hour is going to take forever.”

 

“How do you know I’m still offering? I mean after that stunt you just pulled I might be taking it back.”

 

“No, you’re not. Where’d you park?”

 

“Over there. But what makes you so confident that I’m just gonna give you a ride now?” I cross the street over to where his car is parked, it’s an old, dingy, vintage looking thing that I could tell used to be considered a luxury sports car back in its day. It fit Gregory well.

 

“It’s a little bit of a drive from here so could you open the door and we can be on our way.”

 

“No I want you to answer my question first.”

 

“Is it really that important?”

 

“Yes.” I huff a sigh looking at him for some clue as to why he refused to let this go.

 

“You like me, you think I’m cute, and you think you might have a chance with me so theres a 99.7% chance that you are going to drive me home.”

 

“Oh you think i like you?”

 

“No i _know_ you like me.”

 

"Alright you got me. But the real question here is do i have a chance?" Theres a pause where i comically pretend to be having a very serious think before i answer him.

 

“Maybe.”  He smiles coming in close so that he can unlock the door manually and open it with a grand gesture.

 

“You could’ve just used the button that i know you have on your keys.”

 

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to get this close.”

 

“Oh really?” A blush begins to crawl up my neck and face again. We're standing only a foot away from each other, the smoke from our breaths clouding the air. Under the street lights I could see all his scars and markings that weren't hidden beneath his patchy leather jacket vividly, every line and detail put into stark contrast with his tan skin. The jewelry adorning his face blinked with light every time he shifted and I could see the beginnings of stubble lighting dusting his jaw. The light brought out the dark circles under his eyes and the moistness of his lips, he could see the worn out knees of his trousers, the black leather of his jacket fading and the scuff marks of his combat boots.  Everything about him screamed poverty and he looked magnificent to me. Absolutly perfect.

 

“Really.” He winked before going to the driver’s side and getting in. I took one last deep breath of chilled air and got into his car.


End file.
